UNGRATEFUL
by Liebestraum
Summary: The tale of a little raven-headed boy who was afraid to sleep. "But Kira is so beautiful, and L is so ugly. He can only wonder why." Oneshot.


**Ungrateful**

At night, he sees things.

Initially, they're nothing more than shadows. _Shadows_, the little raven-headed boy reasons to himself. _Shadows are natural phenomena that occur when matter obstructs the passage of visible light. _But the moon's glow is eerie, and the light is the blue of spirits and ghosts, and soon the shadows are moving, deeper and deeper into the room, closer and closer to him. _Wind_, the little raven-headed boy reasons to himself. _Strong wind is capable of shifting matter, and thus is capable of shifting shadows._

Wind, though, cannot move trees this way, and trees do not make those outlines.

Terrified, the little raven-headed boy slips his head under the covers, but it's no use. These are not mere shadows anymore; they are the gloomy past and blurry future melding together, seeping in through the cracks in the windows, twisting together into an awesome torment of the present.

_"…That boy's a freak! Why doesn't he play with toy trucks and building blocks? We found him skimming through Jeannette's criminal law books, staring at the photos of corpses. There's no way this monster is our son! Take him. We don't want him—not now, not ever…"_

_ Mommy! Daddy! Where are you going? Don't leave me! Please! I didn't mean to…the pictures were fascinating…  
_

_ "Just look at his eyes—they're so large and blank, it's as though he sees everything. I never feel comfortable when I'm around him. Isn't there some way to...to get rid of him?"_

_ But you're interesting. I'm only watching. Please, Ms. Jamie, I'm only watching. Don't get rid of me. I promise I won't do it again. Please, Ms. Jamie….please…_

_ "…what's wrong with him? This is the second orphanage he's been moved to in the past six months. For that matter, why did his parents leave him? They're supposed to be extremely high-ranking, well-educated nobles…"_

_ There's nothing wrong with me. Really. I've stopped looking at pictures of dead people, I've stopped watching real people, I've stopped using big words. I promise, there's nothing wrong with me…don't make me go away...I like it here, I really do...  
_

The garishly bright rose windows of Notre Dame swing through his vision, closer and closer, akin to a deathly pendulum. Soon, he is falling into the intricate medallions, falling into the dark spaces of the stone tracery, falling into the lancets.

_"You're no great detective. DNA evidence refutes your initial judgments."_

_ No, please no, I don't want this to happen…_

_ "I thought you were a genius, but I was sadly mistaken. We'll have to replace you with someone more capable…A! Prepare to take L's spot tomorrow!"_

_ …I am a genius! Look at the tests! I am a genius! Please, please don't replace me…_

_ "L…I took you in when no one else would. I gave you the most expensive education in the world. I presented you with the means to have the world at your fingertips, and this is how you repay me?"_

_ No! I didn't mean to fail…I…I don't know. But I'll know tomorrow…one more chance? Please, just one more chance?_

_ "You freak! I hate you! Why are you always looking at me like that? I thought I told you not to…"_

The woman's face is his mother's, and the back that turns on him is his mother's, her blonde hair stylishly falling to her shoulder, a designer dress of luxurious satin. He knows he shouldn't care—she left him, she hated him. He has every right to ignore her. He will never see her again—her gentle green eyes; her sculptured nose; her soft hands…she is so beautiful, and he is so ugly. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he isn't her son.

Suddenly, the little raven-headed boy begins to cry.

The tears roll down his cheeks, unapologetically, unashamedly. He can't stop, but he can't bear the itchy, wet trails the tears leave behind. Part of him wants to scratch and tear and peel his skin back, wants to replace his eyes, replace his nose, replace his mind itself. Why must he be so different? Why must he suffer so much?_ Why must he be so ugly?_ He has learned to hate mirrors. He used to be intrigued by the twin he found in their glassy depths, but now he knows the twin is ugly, the twin is horrible, the twin is himself, and he hates himself for everything.

Shoulders still shaking from sobs, the little raven-headed boy falls off the bed and crawls toward the oak doors. The door knob is high up, and he barely manages to reach it, but through teary eyes, he grasps the cold metal in both hands.

He turns the knob.

Nothing happens.

It is locked.

Now he slumps against the door—now he wails—now he clutches his head between his hands. Must he be locked away at night to not scare the other children?

_Is he truly so monstrous?_

Tears splatter the stone tiles, grieving flowers of pain and isolation dotting the floor.

**I**

Footsteps sound just down the hallway. From their measured, precise rhythm, the little raven-headed boy knows who it is, and his heart lightens. He will be saved, after all.

"Mr. Whammy?" He calls.

Silence meets his ears. The footsteps have stopped.

"Mr. Whammy, are you there?" He calls again. "Mr. Whammy, could you open the door? I…I'm a little scared."

This time, he can definitely hear the footsteps. But they are not coming toward him anymore; they are leaving the hall, retreating from his door.

"Mr. Whammy? Mr. Whammy?" Now the boy's voice cries out. "Mr. Whammy, please don't leave me! Please don't leave me in here! Please, Mr. Whammy! Please!"

The footsteps have long faded away.

Times passes, and the little raven-headed boy closes the blinds. He flicks the lamp on, and begins to piece together a puzzle on his bed.

**I**

As the younger man pulls the covers comfortably over his shoulders, he glances at the older detective, who crouches in a chair beside the bed, laptop balanced on his knees. The chain clinks between them.

"Ryuuzaki," he begins, "why do you never sleep at night?"

The question dangles in the air for a few moments; no answer is forthcoming, and the younger man, exhausted from the day's work, decides to leave the matter alone. He turns away.

**I**

When the caramel eyes finally close, L thinks of the family photos he saw in the Yagami residence—always, there were four laughing faces, lit by the happiness of ignorance, the happiness of normal people. L thinks of who Yagami Raito is: dazzlingly handsome, unimaginably brilliant, doted on by parents, admired by peers, cherished by all.

Green eyes, blond hair, and one fateful night of receding footsteps flash through his mind, suddenly, drawing a cold contrast to the Yagami family photos.

"You wouldn't understand."

The whisper falls on deaf ears. The golden boy stirs only lightly in his sleep.

L returns to his work, but somewhere deep within, he recalls the strangled, startled expressions of the Kira victims, and he recalls his own vow to bring Kira to justice.

But Kira is so beautiful, and L is so ugly.

The little raven-headed boy inside can only wonder how...why...when...anyone could be _so..._

**I**

_Fin._


End file.
